


The Car In Harvard Yard

by Chash



Series: Charity Drive 2017 [17]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10430598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: In which Bellamy decides the only way to deal with his sister's new gluten-free vegan hipster foodie boyfriend is to go full Masshole, and Clarke laughs at him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Charity fill for [matriarchal](http://matriarchal.tumblr.com/), who wanted a fic with Masshole Bellamy based on [this post](http://ponyregrets.tumblr.com/post/157545284019). I'd apologize to Boston, but Boston knows what it did. Everyone go sit in the corner until you learn how to use your goddamn turn signals.
> 
> In unrelated news, for those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr, I'm coming up on my two-year anniversary in t100 fandom and taking votes for what timestamp I should write in celebration! You can vote [here](https://goo.gl/forms/qBHhaJs24r74jFNn1), if you're so inclined.

"Okay, explain this plan to me again," says Clarke. "But slower, and this time it makes sense."

"It made sense the first time," he says. "Patriots or Bruins?"

"You're only picking one?"

Bellamy selects one of the Patriots t-shirts and holds it up to his chest. "No, I'm going to like both, obviously. And the Red Sox. But I should have a favorite of the teams, right? That's how the sports fandom works."

Clarke shrugs. "All I know about the sports fandom is that for some reason hockey RPF is way more popular than other RPF. So if you get into the Bruins, you can maybe find fanfic about the players making out."

"Okay, so, Bruins it is."

She flashes him a grin. "Also, I think hockey is easier to figure out than football? Football always seems like it has way too many rules."

"Yeah, that's true. So I love the Bruins, I like the Patriots and the Red Sox--"

"I think real fans call them the Pats," says Clarke. "Or, at least, the kind of fan you're trying to be. Which I'm still not clear on. Have you thought about just being nice to your sister's boyfriend?"

He makes a show of pausing for a few seconds. "Yup, I thought about it. Not happening." She rolls her eyes, and he huffs. "He wants recommendations for vegan, gluten-free restaurants, Clarke."

"Celiac is real. And there's nothing wrong with being vegan."

"How many non-asshole vegans have you met?"

"Don't be prejudiced."

"That means zero."

"Lexa's friend Luna was a vegan. You liked her."

"She was so weird she was barely a person. It was like watching performance art, except she never stopped."

"I think the non-asshole vegans are the ones you don't know are vegan until you're cooking for them. Schrodinger's vegans."

He snorts. "Which makes Lincoln an asshole. He's a gluten-free vegan artist."

"Are you hating on artists now?" she asks, clearly amused.

"My best friend is an artist and she's a total pain in my ass so--"

Clarke elbows him. "Seriously, I think you should just try being nice to him."

"Nope. He wants to date a poor girl from Boston, he's going to deal with her full-on Masshole brother."

"Didn't you spend like your entire youth trying to make sure she _wasn't_ going to just be a poor girl from Boston."

"Shut up and google hockey rules for me."

Clarke smiles and pulls out her phone. "I just want it on the record that I think you're being a dumbass."

"That was already on the record."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe underline it or something."

He finds a Bruins jersey and tries it out against himself. Definitely a good fit. "And we haven't even started going to restaurants yet."

*

The thing is, Bellamy knows he's being unreasonable, but he doesn't think he's being _entirely_ unreasonable. Octavia doesn't have a great dating history, and while that isn't really any of his business and possibly just a personal failing on his sister's part, he knows that she _does_ do this thing where she changes herself for people she's dating. She's the girl who takes up her significant other's hobbies and acts like she thought of them, and if his sister is actually trying to pass herself off as a vegan foodie, she deserves absolutely everything that's coming to her, in terms of his horrific scheme.

Which is why he goes on metafilter and asks for the absolute worst hipster restaurants in the Boston metro area, the ones that are trying way too hard and failing on every level.

 _To clarify_ , he adds, _my sister is bringing her foodie boyfriend to town, and I want them to get bad vegan food that won't poison them. It should just be terrible._

He got a pretty good list in no time, but he's not willing to just trust internet strangers with this one. This is important. Which is why he and Clarke are trying the places out.

"So, here's the problem," Clarke says, looking at the menu with a frown. "We're not hipsters."

"That's the opposite of a problem."

"Under normal circumstances, yeah. But we're trying to figure out what a foodie hipster would hate. Which means we have to think like the enemy. I see _vegan savory ice cream sandwich_ and I automatically gag, but maybe that's what hipster vegans like. How do we know?"

Clarke is Bellamy's best friend for about a billion reasons, but sometimes she'll say something that's just the platonic ideal of why that is, and he remembers all over again why she is his favorite person in the universe.

"Seriously, every single part of this thing shouldn't be vegan, why are they trying to make it vegan?" she goes on. "It's soy blue cheese coconut milk ice cream with soy bacon cider bread."

"Is there a non-vegan version?" Bellamy asks, squinting at the menu. It just has so many words. It's like being in a foreign country that uses the same alphabet; he feels like he should be able to understand what he's reading, but he just can't wrap his brain around the collection of letters. 

"Yeah. You can change it up as much or as little as you want from the basic bacon beer bread blue cheese ice cream sandwich." She makes a face. "I can't believe you're making me eat here."

"And it's just going to get worse."

Clarke taps her cider; she's definitely drinking the pain away, and Bellamy can't blame her. It's a terrifying place. "Is it?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"So, let's assume that I disagree with your entire premise here. Everything you're doing is stupid, and you look terrible in Bruins colors."

"Noted."

"But you're doing it anyway, so you might as well be the best Masshole you can be."

"Inspirational."

"I'm just saying, you're going to a bunch of _actual_ hipster restaurants, trying to find a terrible one."

"And?"

"And if I were your sister's new boyfriend, I would think you were being nice. Just because you're failing, it doesn't mean you're not trying."

"Even more inspirational."

"Seriously. If you want this guy to think you're an uncultured asshole, you should be telling him to go to, like--chain restaurants. Steak houses. The food court at South Station."

He snorts. "So, you think I should go for full asshole?"

"Play to your strengths." There's a pause as the waiter comes over, and of course she orders the full-vegan ice cream sandwich, on top of all the other weird stuff they decided seemed palatable. She makes a good point about the foodie mindset; it's possible that O's new boyfriend would love everything on this menu and consider it amazing and provocative. That's a foodie word, right? _Provocative_. Bellamy doesn't understand why anyone would want to be provoked by their food. He gets into enough fights without starting more with his meals.

"So, Dunkin Donuts, right? Foodies love Dunkin Donuts."

"I assume most of their stuff is vegan because none of their ingredients were found in nature, so you should be set, yeah," Clarke agrees. She gives him half a smile. "You know that if he likes your sister, you're not actually going to scare him off, right?"

"That's quitter talk," he scoffs. "Just have to figure out the right tactic."

*

"You're fucking deranged," says Miller.

Miller is, somehow, into hockey. Not the Bruins--he's from Toronto, so his first loyalty is to the Maple Leafs, and then to all other Canadian teams, and then to anyone but the Bruins, apparently just to be contrary--but he likes hockey as a sport, and he buys tickets to Bruins games and then roots for the other team, so Bellamy has been going with him to get a feel for when to cheer and when to yell obscenities. And since Miller started dating Monty, they haven't had as much one-on-one time yet, so it's almost worth going to hockey games just to see him. His life hasn't been lacking in people making fun of him, because all of his friends are constantly making fun of him, but he's cultivated his friend group so they make fun of him in different ways. Miller brings a different vibe to the mockery than Clarke or Raven or his sister, and he missed that.

"That's not news," he says. "You're the one who likes hockey. _That's_ deranged."

"Everyone who likes hockey is deranged?"

Bellamy shrugs. "This is my third game and nothing's made me think that's not true yet."

"When's your sister coming to visit again?"

"Spring break. March."

There's a pause, and then Miller asks, "What does Clarke say?"

It feels like an odd question, but Clarke probably is the expert on whatever is happening, and Miller generally trusts her judgement. "You know Clarke," he says, with a shrug. But maybe it was the right question, because he's incapable of leaving it there, which means he actually has to think about what Clarke's been saying. "She thinks I'm ridiculous." She hasn't actually been _saying_ that, but it's implied in basically everything she does. "But it's Clarke. She's helping me with my southie accent and breaking in a Red Sox hat for me so it won't look new."

"You can't wear your own hats?"

He straightens the Bruins cap he's got on. "I want variety. She said she'd wear Red Sox gear because she knows the rules of baseball." He clears his throat. "She doesn't approve, but she gave up on talking me out of it. So she's being supportive."

"I liked her better before she knew she was into you," Miller says, and Bellamy chokes. "Sorry, did you not know yet?"

"She's not into me," he says, automatic.

"She's helping turn you into a Masshole."

"Which you'd never do to anyone you wanted to sleep with."

Miller snorts. "Dude, you're already like half Masshole. You drink Dunkin iced coffee like it's your job, you don't know where your turn signal is, and you're weirdly defensive about candlepin bowling."

"It's fun," he grumbles. "And I know where my turn signals are."

"You're just too busy to use them?"

He barely even drives these days, but it's the principle of the thing. "Fuck you."

"You're already a dick," Miller says. "You don't have to like hockey to scare your sister's new boyfriend off. The power's been inside you the whole time. You just have to believe."

Bellamy snorts. "So, what you're saying is you want me to stop coming to Bruins games with you."

He makes a show of thinking it over. "Nah. I just want you to stop rooting for the fucking Bruins."

Some buzzer on the ice makes a noise, and Bellamy rises to yell in unison with Miller, so he's getting the hang of this. He bumps his shoulder against Miller's as they sit again. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's the least I can do."

*

Bellamy lives in Cambridge, and doesn't actually go to Boston proper that often. He's in Central Square and Clarke's in Davis, so those are his main hangouts. When he wants to go out to dinner, he usually texts Clarke, and she gets off in Central after work, and they go to H-Mart, because Bellamy is pretty sure H-Mart has all the food any human could ever need. He's definitely not a foodie. He is the polar opposite of a foodie.

But it's honestly kind of fun, trying out his list of shitty restaurants with Clarke. Even though they're all weird and pretentious and have tiny portions of food no one wants to eat. If Lincoln is any kind of rational human being, all of these places would make him miserable. 

Clarke might have a point; he has no idea what hipsters value. He doesn't even know how to troll them.

So they just go to a lot of weird restaurants, get drunk, try as much weird food as they can stomach, and half the time they end up back at H-Mart anyway, because they can never get enough real food at the actual restaurants. It's awesome.

Plus, Clarke wears his Red Sox hat, like, all the time, and it does funny things to his stomach, for which he blames Miller. Because Clarke definitely isn't interested in him. Miller's just being a dick. And Bellamy's not interested in Clarke. These aren't _dates_. He would never take an actual date to a shitty hipster restaurant and make them help him perfect his southie accent. He would be _charming_.

Except Clarke already knows him, so that would be pointless. He couldn't fool her if he wanted to. Which he doesn't. 

Really.

Still, he can't help a twinge of regret when he realizes that they've come to their last restaurant. O and Lincoln will be here next week, and they finished his metafilter suggestions for hipster restaurants weeks ago. 

He just didn't want to stop having a weekly engagement with her, so he was finding his own. Not a big deal.

"So, what's the plan when Lincoln comes?" Clarke asks, cocking her head at him across the table. This place is actually--to Bellamy's horror--a little bit nice. There's decent mood lighting, and they're working this backyard picnic theme that's kind of working for him. All the drinks are in mason jars, and he's just getting a plate of fried chicken, with absolutely nothing deconstructed about it.

It feels like letting the hipsters win to admit it, but he's almost enjoying himself.

"The same plan as always," he says. "I'm the world's biggest, most stereotypical Boston asshole, and I take him to a bunch of shitty restaurants and talk about how much I love the Bruins. Miller will feel like I'm walking over his grave for a solid week." He clears his throat. "You can participate as much as you want. Up to you."

"You really think this is a good idea?" 

"Which part?"

"Well, for one thing, your sister knows you don't have a southie accent and don't actually care about hockey--"

"Hey, I'm learning to care about hockey," he protests.

"And she's not going to trust any of your food recommendations, so--"

"So you think I should just be normal?" He reaches over to tap the brim of her hat. "You would have been wearing this Red Sox hat for nothing."

"Not for _nothing_. I got hit on by some drunk guys on the green line last week."

"Isn't it harder to not get hit on by drunk guys on the green line?" 

"Yeah, but this gave them more to talk to me about."

"Glad you're making friends." He takes a sip of from his mason-jar cocktail, considering. "If I'm nice to O's boyfriend, she's just going to be suspicious. He needs to know what he's getting into, right? A poor Boston family full of assholes. If that turns him off, fuck him."

"And you can't just be your normal kind of asshole? That's not enough?"

"She really likes this guy. So it's--" He pauses, takes another long drink, has to steel himself. "It's wicked important, Clarke," he says, and she dissolves into giggles.

"Wicked important," she repeats. She doesn't even attempt the accent, which is a shame, because it would be hilarious.

"Seriously," he says, and she shakes her head with a smile.

"Well, if it's _wicked_ important."

*

Bellamy knew what Lincoln looked like, but his actual _size_ is still something of a shock. The guy is huge, a giant in every possible dimension, and could probably bench-press Bellamy for an hour without breaking a sweat. How is it possible to get that large without eating animal products? There's no way tofu is powering all that.

"Bell!" says Octavia, and he lifts her up and twirls her.

"Hi, O," he says, forgetting his accent for a second. But it comes back when Lincoln offers his hand. "And you, ah, must be Lincoln."

Octavia gives him a funny look, which he deserves. He and Clarke came up with the accent by listening to people in a downtown Dunkin Donuts for two hours and then watching _Good Will Hunting_ and that episode of _The Simpsons_ where the mayor's nephew beats up a waiter for saying chowder wrong. Because they're _professionals_.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," says Lincoln. "I've heard so much about you."

"Yeah. Welcome to Bahstahn," he adds, mangling the word almost beyond recognition.

"You don't even _live_ in Boston anymore. You're in Cambridge." Octavia gives him a calculating look. "Where's Clarke?"

He's not sure what to do with everyone's assumption that Clarke is supposed to have opinions on his stupidity, but of course she _does_ , and she's on his side, so it doesn't even matter. He's all set.

"She had to work late," he says, trying to make everything nasal even when he has no idea how. "But she's wicked excited to see you. She's meeting us at the bah."

"I'm going to murder you," says O, cheerful. "Where are we going?"

He's taking them to his least favorite of the hipster places, to make it look like he's trying, but also make everyone suffer with him. Including Clarke. _Again_. After this is over, he should buy her something really nice. And a Dunkin Donuts gift card, too. Just to make her laugh.

She's already waiting for them at the bar, dressed in an oversized Bruins jersey, and she lights up at the sight of them, pulling Octavia in for a warm hug.

And then she says, "It's wicked good to see you!" and he nearly chokes on how much he loves her. Which is not something he ever expected to think about someone wearing a Bruins jersey, but--holy shit. He's going to marry this girl.

"I cannot believe you assholes," Octavia says. "Lincoln, Clarke. Clarke, Lincoln."

Lincoln looks kind of like his face has frozen in a pleasant smile, probably as a defense mechanism, and the small part of Bellamy's brain that isn't full of _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_ feels a little bit bad. O will definitely explain, at some point. Whenever he and Clarke leave them alone.

Maybe they should do that now. He could just drag Clarke back to Central, and they could go to H-Mart for dinner, and he could bring her back to his place to make out.

But O and Lincoln are staying with him, and he isn't enough of a bastard to actually abandon them. Just enough of a bastard to make up a persona, learn how to convincingly talk about a new sport, visit ten restaurants he hates, and fake an accent, just because his sister's boyfriend is a vegan.

Fuck, Miller was right. He is, perhaps, the ultimate Masshole. This is his lesson. It's not about how many r's you drop, or how much Dunkin iced coffee you drink, or how bad you are at using your turn signals. It's what's on the inside that counts, and inside, Bellamy is pure Masshole.

He slings one arm around Clarke and the other around Octavia and beams at Lincoln. "First round's on me," he says, and Octavia rolls her eyes, but leans into him.

"It's the least you can do. Dick."

*

In the morning, Bellamy goes out to get them breakfast. In the interest of not being a total asshole, he goes to Veggie Galaxy and asks the woman at the register for recommendations, like he is buying for someone he actually likes. If he wanted to be maximally friendly, he'd go to Life Alive, because that's definitely the foodie option, but he's basically terrified of Life Alive. Even just walking past them, he feels like they're judging him. He's not sure he'd survive going inside. He can start small.

When he gets back, Lincoln is awake and sitting on his couch, shirtless, being intimidatingly hot and giant and, by all appearances, a genuinely cool person.

He offers Bellamy a smile, and Bellamy says, "Morning," with as much of an accent as he thinks it requires.

Lincoln's mouth quirks. "Your sister explained that you were hazing me. You and your girlfriend. So you can feel free to skip the voice."

"The Bruins shirts are surprisingly comfortable," he says, feeling sheepish, but he returns the smile and offers Lincoln one of the coffees.

"I do understand," Lincoln says. His voice is impossibly soft. "Octavia told me about--how the two of you grew up. I'm sure in your place, I would be uncomfortable with--well, I love your sister very much. And if there's anything I can do to make you feel better about that, I'd be happy to do it."

It's a lot to deal with when he's only had five sips of coffee.

"What do you like for breakfast?" he finally asks. "I was, uh--I was going to buy something, but everything I usually eat involves flour and animal products, so I just went to this vegetarian place and told them to surprise me."

Lincoln smiles. "It's all right. I know my diet can be difficult to work around."

Bellamy sits down next to him on the couch. "How'd you end up with that?" 

When Octavia wakes up, they're still talking and she sits down next to Bellamy, kicking his foot with hers. "Did you stop being an idiot?"

"Nope. Never. But I'm back to regular idiot."

"Great," she says, with a roll of her eyes, but she's smiling. "Breakfast? I'm starving."

"Your brother went shopping," Lincoln says. Octavia's eyebrows shoot up, but he smiles. "It's delicious."

"At least you're good for something, Bell."

"Yeah," Bellamy agrees. "Something."

*

Octavia and Lincoln stay for just over a week, and it's nice, once he gets over himself. He takes Monday off work to show them the sights and then lets them loose on the city alone, but they get together for dinner--mostly at places Lincoln found himself--and Clarke tags along most of the time. She laughs when he tells her his act lasted less than twenty-four hours, and steals his Red Sox cap back to wear.

So that's something to deal with, once his sister is back in Portland.

Lincoln cooks dinner for the four of them the night before they leave, and Bellamy has to admit it's pretty great. He's still not going to start going into Life Alive or anything, and meat is still awesome, but--well, if there's a good kind of vegan, Lincoln is it. And he loves Octavia, so, yeah. Bellamy could live with seeing him more.

He goes to the airport with them on Sunday, hugs them both goodbye and tries not to feel like Lincoln is going to crush him. He's not a large guy, but on his own, he can kind of pretend that he's really six feet tall. He _feels_ six feet tall, in his head, but it's hard to convince himself of that with Lincoln is engulfing him.

But if that's the worst thing about his sister's boyfriend, that's pretty awesome, really.

Once he's back on the silver line, he texts Clarke. 

**Me** : Did you know I haven't eaten at H-Mart in a week?

 **Clarke** : It's not even a restaurant  
It's a grocery store with a food court  
You are the least classy person I have ever met  
What time are you going?

 **Me** : I'm on the silver line now

 **Clarke** : So we're getting lunch?

 **Me** : Sorry, are you busy?

 **Clarke** : Nope  
Lmk when you get on the red line  
I'll meet you in Central

She's waiting outside H-Mart when he gets there, wearing the Bruins jersey and the Red Sox hat and jeans, and half of him wants to just duck down and kiss her right away, to get it over with.

Instead, he says, "I can't believe you stole my Bruins jersey."

"You bought _three_. It was excessive. You didn't even notice it was gone."

"I can't believe you're wearing it."

"It's comfortable."

He bites the corner of his mouth. "I can't believe you were going to go all-in on Massholing. You're from _California_."

"Ride or die, Bellamy," she says, deadpan, and he has to laugh. Clarke always sounds so _unnatural_ when she says stuff like that, and he's the same way. They're probably the worst people in the world to try to be anything except who they are. He doesn't know why he thought he could maintain it for a day, let alone a week.

"Everyone kept acting like you were going to talk me out of it. Miller asked why you hadn't. They think you're a good influence."

"It was fun. And I knew it wouldn't last once Lincoln showed up." She nudges his shoulder. "You're not that kind of asshole."

"No follow-through?"

"I was pretty sure he'd either be nice, and you'd feel bad and stop being a dick to him--which is what happened," she adds. "Or he'd be terrible and you'd come up with a better reason to hate him and adjust your behavior accordingly."

"And you were just going to go with it?"

"What are friends for?"

He lets out a breath. "Yeah, uh--about that."

"About what?"

"Miller thinks you were helping out because you're into me," he says, not looking at her. "Which, uh--would be awesome. If he was right. But if he's not we can just pretend I didn't mention it."

"Nope," Clarke says, and his heart plummets. But then she says, "No way, you can't get away with that."

"Get away with what?"

"If you're making a move, you have to make one."

"I was going to buy you lunch and ask if you wanted come over and make out."

"Smooth."

"Masshole." He looks down at her, biting his lip. "I'm fucking crazy about you, Clarke. I've never been so attracted to someone in a Bruins jersey. It's a problem."

She doubles over laughing. "You're so bad at this, holy shit."

"I thought about trying to come up with some big romantic speech, but it seemed kind of stupid. You spent the last three months helping me figure out how to be an asshole to a guy I'd never met just because I thought he was going to be a hipster. You know what you're getting into."

"I do know exactly what I'm getting into," she agrees, and pulls him down for a kiss.

*

The next time Octavia and Lincoln come to visit, Clarke comes to the airport to meet them with Bellamy. They're both in Bruins shirts, and Bellamy spent way too long on the internet verifying that Dunkin Donuts is really, really not a good place to be a gluten-free vegan, so he and Clarke went to the overpriced grocery store she likes near Porter and found some foodie donuts there.

As gestures go, it's probably better than anything he could have gotten from Dunkin. He does _want_ to be nice.

"Just be yourself," Clarke advises, squeezing his hand. It's maybe weird, that he's nervous _now_. Lincoln's already met him, and he was already a dick. His first impression is made. 

"That's the worst advice ever," he grumbles. "I'm trying to do better than last time."

"You weren't yourself last time."

"I was eventually. I want to be someone nicer and more welcoming than I am. I like Lincoln, and O thinks he's going to propose soon, so--"

"That's a good reason to be yourself. You're going to see him a lot." She presses her lips to his shoulder. "And you're great."

He has to smile. "You're biased."

"Seriously, it's a huge pain to be anyone else. Just be Bellamy. No one else is doing it."

"I'm just going to be a slightly better version of Bellamy."

"Not possible."

"Jesus, you're no help at all. Just fucking love and support and telling me whatever I do will be fine."

"Yeah, I'm a real asshole. But you knew what you were getting into."

He feels a stupid smile tugging on his mouth. "Nah. I had no idea it could be this good."

They're only kissing for like ten seconds, tops, but of course that's when Octavia and Lincoln get to the baggage claim.

"God, what kind of assholes make out in the airport? There are kids here." she says, and Bellamy wants to point out that _tons_ of airport reunions involve PDA, but Clarke beats him to the punch.

"The best kind of assholes," she says, pulling Octavia in for a hug.

And, really, there's no arguing with that.


End file.
